Morning Bird

I woke up early one morning

The earth lay cool and still

When suddenly a tiny bird

Perched on my windowsill.

He sang a song so lovely

So carefree and so gay

That slowly all my troubles

Began to slip away.

He sang of far off places

Of laughter and of fun

It seems his winsome tweeting

Brought up the morning sun.

I stirred beneath the covers

Crept slowly out of bed

Then gently lowered the window

And crushed his little head.

I am not a morning person.

I don't know who wrote that poem but I like it. No, I would not harm a little bird that woke me early in the morning with a sweet song, though I have been tempted to let my husband get rid of the birds who unceasingly tap on the outside of my bedroom wall at the break of dawn every morning. Generally I do like birds. But I am not a morning person.